Late Night Jaunts
by Anansay
Summary: [GSR] - A sort of introverted narrative that eventually slides into an actual scene. All I can say is: I hope it makes sense!


**TITLE: **Late Night Jaunts**  
AUTHOR: **Anansay**  
SUMMARY: **Okay, well, it starts off rather… introverted and narratively (is that a word? It is for this!) and then seems to go into something actually… story-like. **  
RATING: **G—meaning there's no sex. Not even _talk _about sex. Okay, there's a kiss—but it's chaste! **  
SPOILERS:** Hmm, very _slight _mention of season 4 finale.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **This has been sitting on my computer a while (as have many of them). Sometimes I think they're not finished when in actuality—after I've read them when they'd been sitting for a while—I see that they're more or less complete. But I ask you still: if there are any discrepancies in the story, let me know. After all, isn't that what the review system is all about? **  
A/N—2:**I keep forgetting this part—I need to offer great thanks and appreciation to all those who've left reviews for my past stories. I love hearing from you and what worked for you—as well as what didn't. It helps me to grow as a writer.

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**Late Night Jaunts**

_By Anansay  
__September 12, 2004  
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They'd stood close before. It wasn't like it was something new to have him so near her. Sometimes there wasn't even room enough for air between their bodies as they unconsciously leaned against each other at a crime scene. Or at the lab.

But this time it was different. On so many levels. It could have been many a tiny aspects that leant that differential to it. Might have been Sara's pounding heart—but that happened most times around him anyway. Might have been Grissom's erratic breathing—but when he was on to something at a crime scene, he'd start breathing funny too. It could even have been the dim lighting lending that romantic atmosphere—but lack of lighting was a common thing in their work. They did, after all, work night shift.

The only thing different was… they weren't anywhere near work, or work-related things. They were outside, in a park of all places.

It wasn't a crime scene. It wasn't a covert meeting of two closet lovers. As it happened, it simply… happened.

* * *

The night had the typical cool crispness about it, with the stars in sharp contrast against the pitch black sky. Even with the lamp posts in full luminary bloom, a few starts could still be made out, those that forced their brightness past the artificiality of electricity.

Grissom was alone this night and having the night off and of course being unable to sleep due in part to his now adapted internal clock, not to mention the perpetual assault on his mind of images and thoughts that simply wouldn't go away, he'd decided a walk would be a good idea. Now, sitting on the cool wooden bench in Kingsley Park, his butt quickly chilling, other warmer thoughts were infiltrating his mind—thoughts of a warm bed and a good book by the dim light of his night table lamp.

He sat on the bench, coat zipped up and body hunched over, trying to maintain what body heat he had. It was chilly that night and the cold seeped in and made a home in the bones, tensing bodies until people resembled wooden puppets instead of the lithe and free figures they usually were.

His teeth chattered together and he was sure his lips were turning a delicate shade of bluish grey. Much like his soulful eyes. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them the warm moist air from his mouth. He knew it was a moot point, the moisture would only condense and make the cold ever more intense. It was an instinct and one hard to get rid of.

When that didn't do much, he pulled them into his sleeves, remembering how his mother used to admonish him to simply wear gloves! Of course, being at least as independent as his peers he'd answered, _of course Mom, _and promptly pulled his hands in even tighter and left. There weren't many chilly nights in Vegas so the idea of buying mitts or gloves didn't really stay long.

Only a few stragglers passed him by, leaning precariously on wobbly feet as they maneuvered through the haze in their intoxicated minds. Shadows drifted in and out of the trees, spying with clandestine covertness upon any unwary visitors. Grissom ignore them all. If anything were going to happen to him, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Eventually, if he were meant to be stabbed, mugged and robbed, or even killed, better to get it over and done with so he could go on living.

So he sat and he thought. Alone and in silence.

"I love you," he whispered quietly into the night air.

The words felt foreign on his lips, their shape and motion strange and new, their sound oddly intriguing.

The night answered back, in the form of crickets chirping and frogs croaking.

Her image floated in his mind. Her crinkling smiling eyes, her wide glowing smile, the tilt of her head as she tried not to hide the blush creeping up her neck. But always her head would drop and her hand would come up, as though holding back the words that wanted to come out.

He loved her smile. It was the purest thing he'd ever seen. So free and full of life. It really was a full-body experience, for both of them. Her body would open up, arms to the side even when her head bowed down. For him it was different, more of a delicious wave of tantalizing goosebumps tightening his flesh and causing alluring visions to dance through his head.

He wanted to make her laugh; something more than a smile. If you could make a person smile that was good. But if you could make them laugh—a real laugh, a full-bodied, from-the-gut laughter that sapped the energy as it gave it—then that was even better.

He wanted to hear her laugh again. The joyous bubbling up of sound, so sweet and innocent.

But she didn't laugh anymore. Not with him at least. He hadn't heard her laughter in such a long time. But he did see her smile. Most of the time it was a mere caricature of the former real one. But once in a while, when her guard weakened, he'd see it. And his heart would throb with the sudden tension in his body.

He saw her that night, running with all her might, arms pumping, legs pushing, chest heaving as she pushed herself ever more forward, gasping air that felt more like knives sliding down her throat. And he'd seen her almost fall and drop herself into… Greg's waiting arms. His surprise might have quelled the burst of jealousy in his heart were it not for Greg's arms wrapping themselves around her body and returning the hug as she smiled and laughed and hugged him closer to her. She was happy, so happy that night. She'd done it again—she'd run and finished her lap, sending Nick off on his own.

That laughter had cut through the night and reached his fresh ears like the call from a lark. He knew that sound, knew it well. Before it had been mostly for him. He knew she'd harbored feelings for him. Who wouldn't have guessed—even stoic Grissom—with the preening and the prancing and smiles always aimed his way. She was never obvious with it, but he _was _an investigator, trained to catch those covert clues when people spoke and interacted. He'd seen it, but he couldn't believe it. Not Sara Sidle. Not for him. No way.

So he'd pushed it aside and away, concentrated on work, dove into it head long and never looked back. He pushed himself and he pushed his team. After all if _he _could do it then so could they, right?

But he also pushed them away. His work required a certain amount of emotionless investment. You had to put aside your feelings, no matter how intense they were. It was just a good way not to get bogged down by the sheer horror of what other people were capable of doing to each other, in the name of love, hate, jealousy, passion, greed, selfishness, lust, you name it.

Every night, to be bombarded with the images and the testimony, the cold voices admitting to hurting another in a most gruesome way. The begging and pleading of survivors to give them closure.

Theirs was not a job for the meek and the weary. You had to be strong in this field. You had to be able to hold your own. No one would come along and take your hand and lead you anywhere. If anything, they'd lead you right to your grave. No, you had to be strong on your own two feet, or get the hell outta there.

All these thoughts passed through his mind, by that one image. And the chill kept creeping in. His muscles were beginning to complain bitterly and remind him of the nice warm bed back at his place. Perhaps a good shower first, to wash off the invisible grime of the work.

But his bed was a solo feature. There was no warm body there to warm it up for him. He'd crawl in to crisp _cool _sheets and have to wait for his body temperature to warm them up. And then, as soon as he moved and shifted position, there'd be another cold spot to warm up.

Might was well stay outside, on this cold wooden bench, among the creatures around whom he'd built his entire life. It was fitting, no? that he should sit there all night. He wasn't tired—his job made it certain that nighttime was _not _for sleeping, but for a feeble attempt at living some mediocre excuse for a life.

Like sitting all alone on a cold bench in a deserted park in the middle of the city. The City of Sin.

"I love you," he said again.

The words were coming easier now. Or maybe he just didn't feel the work involved in his frozen mouth.

Sad eyes, lost eyes, forlorn eyes.

Those were the eyes that met him at work now. Gone was the twinkling of anticipation. Gone was the smile of pleasure. Gone was the laughter of living. Gone was the stride that bespoke a strong silent confidence.

It was all gone now.

A carapace—much like his bugs—stood in her place. An empty shell.

Even when he'd pinned her against the hanging sheet—if you could _call _it a pin-down—didn't elicit much more than a cold gaze and a frigid form almost touching his. Even if it _was _her suggestion, it was merely part of an impromptu re-enactment meant to test a theory. The fact that it was Grissom that she asked to pin her down seemed to be a moot point: he happened to be there when the idea hit.

He was struck by the absolute absence of anything even remotely resembling spirit in her eyes. Long and hard he'd looked, trying to find some small minute remnant of the woman he'd lov—known.

It was gone. All gone.

_"I haven't seen you in a while," _he'd said to her, when she'd finished talking.

It had only been about the case. She'd found something rather intriguing and it had igniting that spark in her eyes. A clue to a puzzle giving rise to that ever-important question, _Why? _And then he'd said it.

She'd looked at him strangely for a moment, her brow furrowing as she contemplated his words and their various possible meanings.

He knew he spoke in riddles. It was a trick he'd learned to do in his much younger years to detract curious seekers of gossip. Double-entendres had become his specialty and now he found himself unable to have an ordinary conversation without slipping into covert discussion mode.

_"You see me every day,"_ had been her choice of words after her silence.

And then she was gone. Down the hallway and around the corner and gone. Just like that. Leaving behind her own double-entendre for him to mull over for the next few days.

It was almost infuriating to have his game played back at him. He'd shook his head, mastered his bearings and went on his way.

Back to work. Back to pushing his team.

_Too late…_ She'd said. Too late… **__**

The call of his bed became too loud to ignore, as were the screaming agonies of his knees and legs. Creaking and groaning like an old oak in a storm he rose from the bench, pushing up with one hand while the other worked as if seeking a branch of assistance. Finally he was up, stiff as a board but up and he began to walk, like a wooden puppet whose maker forgot some pins in joints and left him a stiff-legged mockery of a human.

His car wasn't far away, but it wasn't as close as he'd like. The walk hadn't energized him, hadn't created enough heat to thaw his bones and he forced his body to contort and slide onto the seat, closing the door, inserting the key and pushing the buttons for the heat. Maximum heat now, thank you.

He sat there, rubbing his hands together, his thighs practically one as he tried to make every part of his body touch something of some warmth.

Finally there was enough heat that he could move without feeling like the Tin Man in Oz and he pulled out and headed home. The park at night used to offer some solace, but not tonight.

Something caught his eye and he looked. Another lone nighttime traveler of parks. He frowned. Long hair, a woman. A chill crept down his spine as his mind brought up the multitude of crime scenes involving female victims in parks late at night. No matter how beautiful or serene, everything held its own dangers, and none more so than the dubious beauty of parks at night. He parked the car again and, putting on his cloak of shining armor, got out.

* * *

It was Sara's night off and as her body refused to sleep most times, especially when it wasn't accustomed to sleeping when everyone else did, she decided a nice calming walk in the park in the middle of the night was a good idea. Everything seemed different at night. The grass wasn't green, it was _dark _green. The trees became these spiny balls atop short thick trunks. The sky was black, pitch black. Except for the moon offering its weak light, there were no stars. There might have been but the glaring lights of the city stole their brightness. Bubbles of light surrounded the lamp posts offering their cheap form of light glaring down in one circular spot, leaving the rest in utter blackness.

The benches were the only thing to keep their shape and most of their colour. They were dark brown to begin with and didn't much change with the missing light of the sun. But they were moist with emerging dew and Sara's legs were pining away for a nice soft bed. But it was so far away.

As Sara stood by her lonesome self in the middle of a park in the middle of the night, there came a noise from behind her and she stiffened. Her reflexes honed into combat mode and she waited.

The noise came again. Footsteps on the soft gravel walkway. Breathing now—gentle slow breaths, not the kind of the running or the nervous type. Sara relaxed, only a bit.

"Are you lost?" came the unmistakable male voice, and it sent shivers down Sara's spine, shivers of the more welcome variety. Her heart sped up as her brain slowed down to a crawl. She shook her head and turned around.

Grissom's wide-eyed and surprised face came into view and Sara stifled a giggle. "Sara?" he said

Sara smiled. "Not lost. You?"

Grissom blinked. "Uh, no." Then he frowned. "Isn't a bit late for you to be out like this? I mean, this _is _a park and it's late at night and anything could have happened to you."

Sara continued to smile. "Alright _Dad,_ I'll head home now. Thanks for the warning."

The surprise went away, replaced by a scowl on Grissom's face that was belied by the smirk that threatened to take over. "Funny. Seriously, what are you doing here?"

"Going for a walk. You?"

He shrugged, looking away. "A walk."

"Ah."

Now they stood close in the bubble of light—their own tiny bubble of existence—and neither spoke. The mundane conversation had come to an end and the night sky gave no indication of the weather which effectively cancelled out _that _topic.

So they stood, each with their hands in their pockets, alternately glancing at each other only to look away again. There wasn't much else to look at, but the other option was proving to be rather dangerous. The silence stretched on punctuated only by the intermittent chirp of crickets and sounds of the night animals scurrying about. Other than that, absolute silence from the humans.

"Well…" said Sara, beginning to shuffle her feet.

"Um," Grissom added and he took a hand out of a pocket and began fumbling with his glasses.

"I'm… gonna get going now." Sara swung an arm over one shoulder, flapping a hand in the air. "Getting late and… you're right, it's rather dangerous out here late at night, without the bright lights of a crime scene and everybody else. Goodnight!" She spun around and began walking away briskly, mentally shaking herself for her tongue-tied response to a person she'd known almost a decade.

"Wait!" came Grissom's voice and his hurried footsteps followed. "Wait, let me walk you home."

Sara spun around and caught Grissom's flustered gaze. "What?"

Grissom stopped short and blinked. "Um, I mean, it's late and… it's dark and…" he sighed. "Just let me walk you home okay?"

Sara stared at Grissom while trying _not _to stare. It was too much. His stammering was just too cute. "You want to walk me home?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Grissom glared at her. "I told you why."

She smiled. "Yeah, you did." Then she frowned. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"What are _you_ doing _here?_ This is where _I _live. _You _live in Henderson. What are _you _doing way out here!"

Grissom blinked and his mouth fell open. Then he shuffled and hemmed and hawed and finally shut his mouth with a snap, stared at Sara, and shrugged.

"You… don't know why?" Sara offered.

"I… like this park!"

"You do… why? It has trees, and benches and grass and paths. Just like the one in Henderson. Why this one?"

He looked about himself, at the trees and the ground. "It… It has… something different about it."

Sara crossed her arms and leaned on a hip, her eyes twinkling in that mischievous way. "Really. Like what?"

"Um…" His feet moved some more gravel. A groove soon appeared.

"Grissom?"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"Like… what?"

He shivered. "We should get going, it's getting chilly."

"I'm not cold," she said defiantly.

"I am."

It was true; the chill had returned to his body and it took everything for Grissom not to begin chattering like a squawking blue jay.

"I can see that," Sara said, her face suddenly taking on a more maternal look. Her hand came out and she rubbed his arm through his jacket. "Maybe _you_ should get home? Should I walk you?" she added with a smirk.

Grissom pursed his lips in a feeble attempt to hide his own smirk. Unfortunately, they stayed that way in his chilly state.

Suddenly Sara pulled back, her face settling into its usual mask of indifference. "Grissom, go home. You're cold. You don't belong out here."

"Let me drive you home then."

"I do have my own car."

Once again his lips pursed together. "Then let me walk you to your car."

Sara tilted her head and regarded this new and gallant Grissom. "I'm fine."

"Please."

Long tense moments passed as Sara considered Grissom's offer. Of course there was a part of her that wanted to take him up on his offer; and there was the other part that screamed about freedom and equality.

And Grissom waited patiently, his eyes trained on her face and making thought more and more difficult. "Let me take you home," he repeated softly.

"Home?"

At her quirked eyebrow, Grissom backpedaled violently. "Uh, I mean, _your _home. Your house. Where you live."

"I didn't say you could come with me."

Grissom shook his head. "To walk you home…?"

"I never said you could."

"But—"

"Grissom, you asked. I haven't answered yet."

"Oh. Well, can I?"

Her eyes wandered over his face, twinkling in the glare of the lamp. "Why? I mean Grissom, it's not like I'm not capable of taking care of myself—"

"—it's… not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I, um…"

Sara stepped closer. "Grissom?"

He didn't answer.

She tilted her head beneath his. "Gris-som?" she said, sing-song style.

Finally he looked up and into her eyes. "Let me take you home."

Her smile vanished, her eyes darkened and she took a step back. "I'm fine."

The dance commenced again and Grissom stepped forward, a hand outstretched. "No, it's not like that."

"Really. This isn't any where near where you live and you're telling me you just happen to be here? Checking up on me, Grissom? Making sure I'm not wandering around drunk somewhere?"

"No. It was just a walk, just…" He sighed, dropped his head and seemed to gather himself together again. "To walk a mile in another's shoes. To acquire understanding of their life and their subsequent decisions. In order to understand someone you have to get close to them, watch them and talk to them and listen to them. People forget about that when they get stuck in their own lives with their own problems." Their eyes met. "I'm looking for a new pair of shoes, Sara."

She'd stared at him throughout his monologue and now her eyebrow shot up, a weak imitation of annoyance. Her eyes bespoke a curiosity and longing that had been buried under layers of indifference. "A pair of shoes?"

"Yes."

"What size?"

"Large."

"You have big feet?"

"Big obligation."

"I see."

Grissom took another step forward and his hand fluttered toward her before dropping to his side, flexing once and then hanging limply. "I've been lax, Sara. There are things that I need to do now, before it's too late. I know I've done some stupid things, I can't explain them. Please, let me walk you home." And like before, he took her hand in his, his fingers hooking lightly around hers. "Please."

His gentleness, from his words to his touch, softened her ire and Sara felt herself leaning toward him, tightening her own fingers around his.

The magnetism this man possessed, though completely unaware of it himself as ascertained in his peculiar shuffling gait and quirky mannerisms, was still as strong now as it was ten years ago. And Sara was still as powerless now as she was then. He would draw her to him with nothing more than a glint in his eye, a lift at the corner of his lips and a tilt of his head. Never mind the suddenly ambiguous statements that would come blurting forth as he busied himself with other things.

Now Sara stood by him, so close and yet still so far. His innate mystery still bothered her and charmed her at the same time. Her heart pounded in her chest—there was no alcohol this time to dull the senses. Grissom's usual calm demeanour was switched with this jittery, tense man whose hand spasmed around hers as though it didn't know whether to let go or hold on tight. He licked his lips—as sure sign of nervousness—and Sara did the same.

No one moved, but it would only have taken a fraction of movement to close the distance between them.

"Is it too late?" Grissom asked softly. A vein jumped madly in his neck.

"No," Sara whispered.

"Good," he said just before he leaned forward and kissed her.

A chaste kiss to be sure, from two people who stumbled blindly around others. Now there was no stumbling, but nor was there any other movement. Still they stood, their lips locked but not moving.

And then they moved, slow and cautious, checking and re-checking the other's response. It wasn't ending. Neither of them was backing away and the kiss was growing more intense. Grissom was the first to bring it to the next level. His tongue gently requested entrance and acquired it in Sara's sudden gasp. Their tongues met and pranced around a while. And their hands joined in the exploration, eager to satisfy longings long held in stasis.

When skin met skin, the eruption was mutual. Brains ceased to function, minds melted into the maelstrom of their passion and it took everything for them to stop, pull away and retain some shred of decency.

Panting breaths mingled with the coolness of the night as they leaned against each other, too afraid to move, still too sensitive to shift away from each other. Like the bubbling gurgle of a volcano spitting its embers skyward they stood motionless in their shared heat.

"Let me take you home," Grissom whispered. "Please."

"Yes." There was no other answer, not after that.

  
**The End**

Copyright © 2004 Anansay


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